


Duet

by confidencealive (dazzler)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 07:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10381293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazzler/pseuds/confidencealive
Summary: Another balcony scene with Lem and Emmanuel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> major spoilers for seasons/winter please watch out!

He’s still not exactly sure how he made it out of Nacre.

He remembers the explosion and being trapped in the bakery and then, after the Ordennan soldiers slashed and burned their way through the city, he remembers looking up and seeing the panther flying overhead, dark black silhouetted against the smoke. Maybe he followed it out. He didn’t see the towers go down for himself, but he still dreams about watching them fall like cresting waves.

He learns upon his arrival to the refugee camp that the last remaining heir of Tristero is no more-- may her illustrious soul rest in peace. Thankfully, Emmanuel is nothing if not adaptable.

At his cafe job in the Canyon, he dreams up new recipes while the city moves around him in a comforting cacophony. It’s not home, not yet, but it’s not bad. And he’s getting by, until one day (night?) at work when bright eyes lock with his, and Lem King, as per his reputation, arrives to ruin everything. Emmanuel has to duck back into the kitchen to catch his breath, fix his hair, and try to keep the broad, foolish grin off his face when he brings the group their crepes.

\--

“Join me for a smoke?” Lem asks. The balcony of his room at the Rose and Crown is built for halflings, not an orc and a man, and the two of them have to crowd together to watch the skyline.

A large hand curls around Emmanuel's as he lights Lem’s cigarette. He looks up (and up and up, Lem has about a foot and a half on him) and Lem smiles down. It knocks the wind out of him and he leans back, turning his gaze to what remains of the stars. No sunrise this time.

“I heard about something like this in an old song once,” Lem says in that soft, eager voice of his. “Well, that is, it reminded me of the situation, not that it was specifically about, you know--”

Emmanuel interrupts. “Would you sing it for me?”

“I don’t really-- it’s more of a--” he stutters and blushes a dark green.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I should. It’s my job to preserve these things, so I should share them with as many people as I can.” He winds a finger through his hair, nervous. “That isn’t exactly how the archive looks at it, but who gives a damn what they think?”

 _You do,_ thinks Emmanuel, watching him crush his cigarette on the railing, but Lem’s bravado is endearing so he lets it slide.

Taking care not to elbow Emmanuel in the head, Lem takes his violin off his back and removes it from its case. He plucks a few notes, then begins to sing, a little halting at first but growing more confident with each verse.

Emmanuel listens to him sing about an endless winter and a lover returning from war, with Lem pausing occasionally to remember the lyrics or strum at his violin. The melody is a little sad but the words feel so gentle. He finishes the song, and Emmanuel claps.

“You have a nice voice.”

Lem puts his violin away, avoiding eye contact, still flushed. “Surprising for an orc, I know.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Haven’t met many orcs?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Emmanuel’s lips. “Can’t say I have.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the din of the Rosemerrow all around them. Somewhere nearby, a light goes out.

“It might have gone differently,” Lem says, “if it had been any of the other archivists in Nacre. You might still--”

“No.” Emmanuel pulls him closer and kisses the bottom of his chin, the highest he can reach by standing on tiptoe. "I’m glad I met you."

For a brief second, Lem looks startled, and Emmanuel wonders if he's been wrong about everything, but his fears quickly prove undue as Lem bends down and presses their lips together, both arms wrapping around his waist. He tastes of cloves and smoke and all other worries fly from Emmanuel's mind.

When they break apart, Lem sucks in a breath. “Oh, wow.”

Emmanuel laughs. “Want to go back in?” he asks and tips his head toward the room.

“Sorry it’s no Hotel Tristero,” says Lem, but huddled up against him and feeling warmer than he has in months, Emmanuel can’t quite bring himself to mind.


End file.
